Propositum Lapis
by tartan-slippers
Summary: Deep in the Department of Mysteries, Project Stone XIII has finally culminated in four infant children: two boys and two girls. The children are placed in the care of four powerful families to watch over and monitor as they grow up. However, waving goodbye to them as they board the Hogwarts Express could also mean waving goodbye to the children they know forever.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the World of Harry Potter, although I've had fun inventing a few new characters, spells, and wizard tech for this one… So thanks to JKR always :D**

 **A/N: Woo, new multi-chap in the making! This is possibly a bit out there, but I'm hoping it works :) feedback as we progress would be much appreciated. I am NOT a Next Gen reader, so my fic will likely have none of the usual tropes/fanon, so do bear with me.**

* * *

The Minister leaned back in his leather desk chair, and raised his hand to his temple, rubbing gently to try and relieve his headache. His completer screen flickered in front of him, the sort of yellowy off-white of old parchment: even after being forcibly dragged into the 21st Century, wizarding technology still liked to hark back to its roots. One particularly insistent animated owl was perched on the menu bar of his internet browser, hooting softly and gesturing a letter icon towards him. He sighed.

"Ok, let's see it then," he said in a deep, rumbling voice.

The animated owl on the completer screen hooted happily, and his a-mail account opened. This particular a-mail was from John Smith, the Head of the Department of Mysteries. The subject line made the Minister's eyebrows slowly rise: _Project Stone XIII_.

"Open new a-mail," he instructed the completer, leaning closer to the screen. The completer obliged, and the contents of the a-mail were displayed.

Success.

There was a long moment where the Minister didn't move; he didn't even take a breath. Then he sighed, and leaned back in his leather desk chair, tugging anxiously at his left ear. _Stone XIII_ : the last in a long line of experiments the Department had carried out in the last six years. And it had worked. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased with that success, or worried about the connotations.

"A-mail to John Smith, RE: _Project Stone XIII_. Meeting in Department to be arranged ASAP. No decisions to be made until result is seen and discussed."

A scroll of parchment appeared on the screen, and a lovely eagle-feather quill began scrawling animated letters across it. The quill hovered after it completed its task, awaiting further instructions.

"Send a-mail," the Minister said, and the quill disappeared. The parchment quickly folded itself, and slipped into an envelope that appeared behind it. The animated owl was still perched on the internet browser, visible again as the a-mail account closed, and the owl quickly swooped down to pick up the a-mail, and flew offscreen.

The Minister drew his wand, pointed it at the completer, and said: " _Logouto_."

The screen lit up in a blaze of red animated sparks, and went black. The Minister stashed his wand back in the depths of his robes, and rose wearily to his feet.

Those poor, poor children.


	2. Method

**A/N: Wow, thanks for the quick reviews for the very short first chapter! Much appreciated - and glad you liked my little wiztech quirks :D there will be more modern updates to the wizarding world as we go, I promise. I hope you continue to enjoy - please let me know in your reviews where you think we're going, and any suspicions you have. And thanks for all the reviews, follows and faves - its what motivates me to keep writing ;)**

 **Disclaimer: JKR is God, I'm merely an angel ;)**

* * *

Deep in the Department of Mysteries, there were four golden incubators. Each one held a baby: one with a thatch of dark hair, another downy blonde, a third with thin red curls, and a fourth with a little pink hat pulled low over its ears. All four were eerily silent, although their little chests moved up and down regularly with their miniature breaths.

"You _did_ succeed," the Minister said in an even tone, hiding his surprise well.

John Smith, Head of the Department of Mysteries, stood next to him. He was a plain man: so utterly ordinary in appearance that one would find him difficult to pick out of a crowd. The Minister had met him several times, and yet could never really remember his face afterwards. The perfect man for the role.

"We appear to, Mr Shacklebolt," Smith said, in a voice of middling depth and no unusual timbre, "although we can't be certain as of yet. They are certainly here, and alive, and their DNA is the same as the DNA used to create them: but we won't know whether they have their original personalities, let alone memories, for a while yet. However, it does seem that there is a way to make the Stone work."

The Minister looked away from the dark-haired baby in his golden incubator to meet Smith's eyes. Eyes he wasn't entirely sure the colour of.

"So what do you intend to do with them in the meantime?"

"We can keep them here, Mr Shacklebolt, and keep them unconscious until we need them - we have the facilities for it."

The Minister shuddered.

"I'm not sure I can condone that. They are children, after all, no matter who else they may or may not be."

Smith looked thoughtful. It gave his face brief character, made sharp with cold intelligence. But then he moved, and once again he appeared bland in every possible way.

"I suppose we could look to our alternate plan."

"Which is?" the Minister prompted.

"We find them homes. Suitable homes, of course, Mr Shacklebolt. Homes that might be made aware of the scenario, and what to look out for."

The Minister looked thoughtful

"I might know of some that may be suitable."

Smith gave a benign smile.

"Certainly, Mr Shacklebolt."

The Minister reached into his robes, and pulled out a thin, flat piece of wood. He tapped it with his wand and muttered " _Signum_ ", upon which the face of the wood lit up in the same parchment colour as his completer screen. Mr Smith leaned in, looking interested.

"Is that a myPlank?" he asked, curiously. The Minister nodded, giving a wry smile.

"Yes. Although I just can't get to grips with the stupid thing - why good old Floo or a Patronus is no longer good enough for communication when I'm away from my desk is beyond me."

Smith looked sympathetic.

"At least your mobile completer is a modern model, Mr Shacklebolt. Mine is a bit of a… well."

Smith drew his own from his robes: a slightly crumbling red brick, patched with mortar along one edge. The Minister stopped himself from cringing.

"Is that a hint, Smith?"

"Never, Mr Shacklebolt," said Smith, looking perfectly innocuous.

The Minister inputted a memo to his myPlank: _Remember to discuss Ministry issue technology upgrades at next inter-Departmental funding meeting._

* * *

A hooting noise came from somewhere deep in Harry's robes. He stuffed a hand into his pocket, rooting around for the culprit, and drew out his mobile completer, the shiny varnished wood gleaming in the candle light. He prodded it irritably with his wand, and a small animated owl flapped indignantly.

"I really wish you'd change your alert tone, Harry - that hooting makes me feel anxious. I blame Errol. Now when I hear an owl I think of impending disaster," Ron teased from the next desk over.

"Who is it, anyway?"

No one else in the Auror Office wanted to be the one in the middle of those two, and they'd easily managed to get the desks of their choice. Although Harry, who was whispered to be the next Head Auror, might not be sharing desk space with his best friend for much longer: Ron was talking wistfully about having more free time, and George had been loudly complaining about the workload he was under with the ever popular Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"Kingsley," Harry said with a frown, and after a moment staring at the parchment-coloured screen, his eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline. Ron leaned closer, ready to ask what the a-mail contained, when his own mobile completer gave a chime like that of a clock. Whilst Harry often received updates from various high ranking Ministry officials (that unofficial-next-Head-Auror-and-Boy-Who-Lived-and-defeated-You-Know-Who lark), for Ron to receive one simultaneously likely meant something serious.

Ron quickly drew his own mobile completer, and poked it hastily with his wand. After a moment staring at the screen he looked up, meeting Harry's green gaze in mild shock.

"Hermione and Ginny are not going to like this," he said, slowly shaking his head.

* * *

The conference room technically belonged to the Committee for Experimental Charms, but Harry had managed to pull a few strings and hijack it for an evening. He and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and, most interestingly, Draco Malfoy and his wife Astoria, all sat around the conference table, with the unremarkable Smith and Kingsley Shacklebolt heading the table.

"So let's get this straight," Ron said, his brow creased in confusion, "You want us to adopt your little genetic experiments, and, what, monitor them?"

"And yet you won't tell us whose DNA they have," Harry stated, challengingly.

"In a very crude and simplistic way, yes," Smith agreed, his smile bland, "Although, of course, they need to be raised as well and with as much dedication as any child, for ethics' sake."

"And because the nature versus nurture effect would give you valuable information, of course," Hermione pointed out, looking unamused.

"There isn't a kinder alternative than this, I'm afraid," Kingsley said wearily, "The only other option is to keep them here in the Department of Mysteries."

Ginny's face twisted. Having always had such a wonderfully supportive family, and a mother who would defend her to the death, she couldn't imagine what those poor children would turn out like kept hidden in the depths of the Ministry. A picture of her own son, James, entered her head, and it prompted her to speak.

"We can't let that happen, Harry," she said to her husband, who looked at her in surprise, "Whatever else they are, they are children. And I think you know better than anyone what a lack of family feels like."

The argument in Harry's eyes died down, and he softened.

"I want to know what compensation we should expect if we are to assist in your experiment," Malfoy contributed to the discussion, his pale eyebrow arched. Harry shook his head and snorted with derision, but said nothing when that baleful gaze was turned on him.

Hermione and Ginny shared a look, and stepped up to take responsibility.

"We'll do it," Hermione said with a tentative smile.

"But we do it _our_ way, with no Ministry interference," Ginny added, her lips quirking.

"And _without_ any unnecessary incentives," Astoria piped up, giving her husband a quelling look when he opened his mouth to object.

"I can agree to that," Smith said amiably, "But only if it is strictly understood than any mildly abnormal behaviour _must_ be reported to the Department. We may need to act on that behaviour, and you must accept that if we do, we believe it necessary."

There was a long pause, but sounds of assent were made by the three couples.

"What about the fourth?" Harry asked, suddenly, 'You said there were four?"

"There are plans for the last one," Kingsley said with a weak smile, "It will have a family, too, but the affect of its upbringing is something we want to explore."

Malfoy wrinkled his nose like he smelled something bad, and Hermione's eyebrows shot up, although the rest didn't seem to understand.

"A Muggle family?" she asked, quietly, thoughts of her own Muggle family, unknowing and so far away, swirling in her mind.

"Something like that," Smith agreed, placidly.

The Potters were given the dark haired child; the Weasleys, the red-head; the Malfoys, the blonde. The last child lay, eerily quiet, in the final golden incubator, alone in the depths of the Ministry.

Harry never quite forgave himself for walking away.

* * *

"I'm not quite convinced we should have kept the identities of the children from them," Kingsley admonished Smith, mildly.

"But, Mr Shacklebolt, you know as well as I the questions that would raise. Why them? Why not others, others whom those very families watched die around them not so many years ago? The ones who died in the first war, whom they don't even remember? And how do we explain to them that it simply doesn't work?"

Kingsley sighed, but said nothing.

"The only real success we've have had with that Stone, the only revivals of anything more than a tortured shade, have been those children. And we had to go back almost a thousand years to find souls faded enough to pull back across the Veil."

"And worst of all, they'll wonder why we endanger the world once again, when it has not long been at peace."

"It's no danger, Mr Shacklebolt, not if the correct protocols are followed. And there is no reason to believe the children will regain their prior personalities, let alone memories."

Shacklebolt sighed again, sure that this was a harder decision than any he'd had to take as Minister so far.

"I hope you're right, Smith," he said to the very ordinary man, 'I hope you're right."


End file.
